


doing christmas right this time

by depressotron5000



Category: Men's Football RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Alternate Universe - College/University, Christmas, Christmas Fluff, M/M, Tooth-Rotting Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-21
Updated: 2020-12-21
Packaged: 2021-03-10 17:01:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,380
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28220574
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/depressotron5000/pseuds/depressotron5000
Summary: Dele's a grumpy barista and Eric's his least favorite customer. Holiday season magic ensues.
Relationships: Dele Alli/Eric Dier
Comments: 8
Kudos: 35
Collections: Deledier Fic Exchange 2020





	doing christmas right this time

**Author's Note:**

  * For [absolvedhistory](https://archiveofourown.org/users/absolvedhistory/gifts).



> Keeks! Merry Chrysler, hope you enjoy <3
> 
> Title from "Christmas Wrapping" by The Waitresses.

Dele, halfway through what felt like a million-hour shift, pursed his lips and glared at the customer on the other side of the takeaway counter. “If there’s vanilla syrup in your drink, then I’m positive you ordered it that way.” He turned to his coworker at the till. “Sonny, you rang this gentleman up. Two shots, whole milk, three pumps vanilla?” 

Sonny shrugged. “What’s the name?” 

Dele squinted at the scribbled name on the side of the cup. “Erm, Eric.” 

“I really don’t want to be a bother, but I wouldn’t have ordered vanilla. I’m off sugar for the term,” said the customer. 

Sonny let out an exasperated sigh. “I honestly don’t remember — I’m slammed. Just remake the drink, Dele.” 

“Fine, erm, Eric. So that’s a double latte, whole milk, no syrup whatsoever?” 

The customer nodded, hunching forward apologetically and looking at Dele from under furrowed eyebrows. “Yes, exactly.” 

“Of course, got to watch your figure. Right away, sir.” Dele spun on his heel and stalked over to the espresso machine, grabbing a jug of milk, pouring it into the carafe and vengefully jabbing the steam wand into it. The antler headband the manager insisted he wear slipped down over one ear, the tiny bells jingling mockingly. Screw Christmas, screw the White Hart Café, screw shitty customers, and screw this shitty customer in particular. He was going to get decaf. 

* 

Dele was on the till the next day with a queue seven deep and the end of his shift nowhere in sight. After yelling out a needlessly complicated order to Stevie at the machines, he turned back to face the next customer. “How can I help you?” he chirped in his best customer service voice, then immediately gritted his teeth upon realizing that this was the complaining customer from yesterday. A big, hulking blond who looked like he didn’t have two brain cells to rub together, and who was off sugar so as not to ruin his girlish figure. 

“Double latte, please. Whole milk.” 

Dele picked up a cup and a Sharpie. “Name? Wait, Eric, right?” he found himself saying. Why was this turnip’s name taking up valuable space in his brain? 

“That’s right.” The customer — Eric — beamed at him. Dele fought to keep from scowling back, instead turning to Stevie to call out the order. He raised his eyebrows, trying to telepathically communicate “make it decaf” to his coworker, but Stevie just uselessly gave him a peace sign and kept whistling along with “Last Christmas” playing over the speakers. 

Later, once the rush had died down and Dele had a chance to look up from the till, he saw Eric hunched over a laptop, typing busily, a stack of books spilling over the rest of the table. Dele huffed and straightened his antler headband as he ground his teeth to the beat of “Frosty the Snowman.” Of course this great lump took up an entire table for hours on a busy day. 

* 

As it turned out, every day that Dele worked, this Eric character was there, taking up vast amounts of space with his nose in one of several thick, boring-looking books, frowning and scribbling notes or highlighting blocks of text, or jabbing at his laptop keyboard with his eyebrows low. When he was on drinks duty, Dele made sure that his espresso shots were decaf. But he was on the till more often than not, and by now he knew Eric’s order by heart, though he made him repeat it every day. Knowing his name was bad enough — he couldn’t let him know he knew his usual, too. He gritted his teeth through every interaction but Eric kept smiling. 

Ten days before Christmas, the café was so crowded Dele couldn’t see to the entrance and so hot and stuffy he could barely breathe. His shift had been a blur of customers berating him for being out of gingerbread men one breath and chirping “happy holidays” at him the next. His pleasant customer service smile had hardened into a rictus and his cheeks ached. He was in the middle of entering a soy no foam half caf double toffee nut latte when a flash of bright hair caught the corner of his eye. He turned and — oh, no. Oh, _no_. Eric was talking to Hugo, the manager. Dele went cold. God, someone was going to get the sack. Wait, had he found out Dele had been giving him decaf? _He_ was going to get the sack. He was going to be out of a job for Christmas. 

He turned back to the customer, the order completely leaving his head as his headband jingled. “I’m sorry, could — could you repeat that? It’s a bit loud in here.” The customer sighed and started over and he weakly punched the order in, icy sweat gathering on his hairline as “Christmastime is Here” tinkled over the noise of the crowd. 

An eternity passed before Hugo appeared over his shoulder. Dele stiffened. This was it. “That customer, he wanted to let me know that studying here has been a lovely experience and that the service here is top-notch.” Hugo patted his shoulder. “Especially you.” 

Dele went pink to the tips of his ears and looked up, hoping to see a pair of familiar eyes meeting his. Blue eyes, he thought out of nowhere. But Eric was already gone. 

* 

The next day passed and for the first time in — how long had it been? Weeks? — Eric’s table was taken up by chatty shoppers. He’s going to hate that, Dele thought. But Eric didn’t appear that day, or the next, or the next. He glanced over at the table every chance he got and the wrong person was always there. Dele’s stomach twisted uncomfortably. 

So that was it. He wasn’t coming back. 

* 

Dele’s next shift was a late one with Sonny, and after the last stragglers had left and the doors locked, he tore off his antlers, turned off the Christmas music, and blasted DaBaby over the speakers to soundtrack their closing duties. He was in the middle of straightening the sandwich cooler, which looked like a bomb had hit it, when a sharp knock interrupted him. “We’re closed,” he said, not looking up. The knock repeated, more insistently this time. Dele turned and barked, “We’re closed, you fuc—” before his brain caught up with his eyes. Outside the door stood Eric, golden hair glowing under the streetlamps. 

Dele was on his feet in a flash and met him at the door. “Hi,” he said shyly through the glass. 

“Hi, you,” Eric replied, grinning. Dele noticed that the corners of his eyes crinkled when he smiled and his mouth went dry. “I finished sitting for my finals and I wanted to know if you wanted to come to a holiday party we’re throwing this Friday. Just a house party, nothing too fancy.” 

“That’s okay, I mean, I’m not fancy. But I, erm. I have to work until eight that night.” 

“That’s fine! Can you come afterward?” 

“I guess. Erm, I mean, yeah, of course?” Dele stammered. How had he not noticed this boy before? Like, really _noticed_. He had to look up to meet his bright blue eyes, which almost never happened to someone as tall as Dele. Eric was close enough that his breath fogged the cool glass. 

“Great! If you give me your number, I can text you the address.” Eric grabbed his phone out of his pocket and held it up. Dele looked around and grabbed the first thing that came to hand, a paint marker that Stevie had used to draw snowmen on the display window. He uncapped it and wrote out his number on the glass of the door, at eye level. Eric laughed, squinted a bit, and tapped the numbers into his phone. “I’ll text you. See you then. Cheers, bro.” 

Dele watched him walk, almost swagger, away, before he realized. Shit. _Shit._ He’d written the numbers on the wrong side of the glass. Sonny cackled behind him. “You know he saw that backwards, right?” 

Dele’s cheeks burned. “It’s — it’s fine. He probably wasn’t going to text anyway.” 

“No, man, he was asking you on a _date_! He was gonna text!” 

“He was not asking me on a date.” Dele sprayed cleaner on the window and wiped the number away with more force than strictly necessary. “He called me ‘bro.’” 

“We’ll see…” sing-songed Sonny. 

* 

Later that night, Dele’s phone buzzed as he ate beans on toast alone in his kitchen, his flatmates arguing over FIFA in the next room. It was a text from an unknown number, with an address a few blocks from the café. A few minutes later, it buzzed again, with the text: “Hey it’s Eric by the way. Just want to say good night.” 

* 

Friday came more quickly than Dele expected. That morning, before his shift, he found himself fussing over his clothes as his flatmates teased him mercilessly. “Are you sure this jumper isn’t too boring?” 

“‘Course not,” said Winksy around a mouthful of cereal. “Looks stylish to me.” 

Kyle scoffed. “What do you know from style, Winksy? Del, didn’t you steal those jeans from me?” 

“I did no such thing! If I had, they’d only go down to my knees.” 

“I’m sure your date will love your fit,” said Winksy, as Kyle spluttered that he wasn’t _that_ much shorter than Dele. 

Dele scowled at his hair in the mirror. “It’s not a date. It’s just a house party.” 

“Whatever. Enjoy your date, lover boy.” Dele pulled on his favorite Vans, flicked the finger at Kyle and Winksy making kissy noises in his direction, and ran out the door to work, forgetting his coat in his rush. 

* 

Dele’s shift was a nightmare. They ran out of every pastry and one of the espresso machines started making a horrendous squealing noise just as the mid-afternoon rush started and the line of overtired shoppers and their crying kids was soon out the door. Hugo was interrupted by a phone call while tinkering with the machine and came back looking defeated. “Coco’s called out sick — Dele, can you help Stevie close tonight?” 

Dele nodded, understanding that he really didn’t have any choice in the matter. So much for that party. He could turn up fashionably late, he supposed. No sooner had he thought that than the to-go lid of the chai he was handing to a customer popped off, splashing all over him, dripping under and through his apron. Dele stood stock-still a moment as the milky tea seeped through the jumper he’d spent so much time deciding on. There was no way he could go to the party looking like this. He took a deep breath and shook it off. Right now, a party was the last thing he needed to worry about, as he watched the line snake past the windows. People needed their caffeine. 

He spent the rest of the day in a damp, nutmeg- and cardamom-scented blur. It was half nine by the time the crowd died down to the point where he could catch his breath a moment. Stevie came over and put an arm around Dele’s shoulder. “Bro, don’t you have a date tonight?” 

“It’s just a party,” Dele corrected him, and Stevie laughed. “But I can’t exactly go in my state. Think I’ll just blow it off and go home instead. It’s already been a long day.” 

“Nah, man, you can’t do that!” said Stevie, scandalized. “Look, if it stays this quiet, Gio and I can close. I have a hoodie in the stock room you can change into. You can’t not show up for a date! That’s not cool, bro!” 

Dele protested, but Stevie was adamant. The stream of customers had slowed to a trickle and stayed slow. Dele attempted to start cleaning the pastry case but Stevie grabbed him by the shoulders and physically turned him in the direction of the stock room. “Bro, get a move on! Clock out! Gio and I got it from here.” 

“We do?” said Gio from the table he was wiping down, but Dele was already through the door. 

Stevie’s black Nike hoodie was crumpled on top of a box of coffee stirrers, and Dele slipped off his still-wet apron and jumper to pull it on. It was a size or two too big and threatened to slip off his shoulder, but he pulled up the hood and figured he could make it work. He pulled out his phone, checked the address, took a deep breath, and headed out. 

* 

Dele triple-checked that he was at the right flat and still hesitated to knock on the door. When he finally worked up the courage, a pretty girl with long, shiny blonde hair opened the door and he almost turned on his heel and ran. “Welcome!” she said before he could move. “Come in, make yourself comfortable. I’m Kate.” 

“I’m Dele. Erm, I brought wine.” He held up the cheap bottle of red he’d picked up on the way and that he held with a death grip, and she took it from him with a pleased smile. He followed her in and she introduced him around to what seemed like a hundred people he didn’t recognize. So this was Eric’s girlfriend, he guessed. So he was right and everyone else was wrong, this wasn’t a date. Sucked to be them. 

Finally they made it out of the kitchen into the living room, and he met a familiar pair of blue eyes that lit up as they recognized him. “Dele! You made it!” cried Eric, breaking away from his conversation to envelop him in a warm, strong hug. “You smell like Christmas. I’m so glad you came.” 

“I almost didn’t make it. Shift from hell,” replied Dele, smiling so hard his cheeks hurt despite himself. 

“I see my flatmate has made the rounds with you already. Here, let me take over.” Eric swept his hand toward the knot of people he’d been talking to. “This is Harry, Kate’s boyfriend, and Jan, he’s a graduate fellow in our department, and Jan’s missus Sophie, and…” 

Dele’s brain whirled and he completely didn’t catch the names of the last couple of people. Eric’s flatmate. Who had a boyfriend who was not Eric. A tiny hope he hadn’t realized he’d been carrying grew in his chest. 

He found himself losing track of the conversation and just staring at Eric. Tall, blond, and...handsome. _Extremely_ handsome, he finally admitted to himself. Princely, even. 

“I said, would you like some punch?” 

Dele snapped back to reality. “Of course, I’d love some.” 

Eric proudly showed off the signature cocktail he and Kate had come up with for the occasion as he poured Dele a generous glass, then introduced him around the room some more. It turned out that a lot of the people there were students in the same political science program at university as Eric, or literature program classmates of Kate’s. Eric kept everyone’s glass full as he shepherded Dele from conversation to conversation. Dele’s initial shyness wore off and he chatted up a storm, laughing and joking with everyone he met. All of Eric’s friends were so _nice_. So was Eric. He made Dele, who knew no one, feel so welcome, like he fit in, and Dele didn’t think he imagined Eric’s hand brushing his lower back every so often. 

The crowded flat grew uncomfortably hot for Dele, and after a few glasses of punch he felt as flushed as Eric was starting to look. After chatting with a neighbor about her new puppy, Eric leaned in to whisper in Dele’s ear. “You need some air? We can go out on the rooftop. Isn’t it a beautiful night?” The hairs on the back of Dele’s neck stood up at the feel of Eric’s warm breath, and everything suddenly seemed very sharp and bright. He agreed that that sounded like a good idea, and they slipped out into the hallway and Eric guided him upstairs to the roof. 

The night _was_ beautiful. It was almost a full moon. Dele looked over at Eric and the way the moonlight highlighted the planes of his face, the bow of his lips, the smooth curve of his jaw, overwhelmed him. He looked down at his feet and shivered despite himself. “Are you cold?” Eric asked him with great concern. “Here, have this.” He took off the wool coat he’d grabbed on his way out the door and draped it over Dele’s shoulders. 

“Thank you,” replied Dele, and wrapped it around himself as he looked up at the stars, which glittered even through the lights of the city. There was a long, long moment of silence, and he turned back to Eric to realize that he was gazing at him, lips slightly parted, eyes soft. Their eyes met, and it was all Dele could do to keep breathing. 

“Hey,” Eric said, finally. “There’s not any mistletoe up here, but I’m going to do this anyway. If it’s okay with you.” He leaned in and Dele moved to capture his lips in a delicate, gentle, tentative kiss. Eric pulled back slightly and Dele had a split second of thinking he’d done it wrong, somehow, but then Eric’s mouth was back on his and Eric’s big, warm hand was on his jaw and Eric’s tongue was flickering at his lips so Dele opened his mouth to meet him, wrapped his arms around him and pulled him close. 

They pulled apart briefly to catch their breath and they both found themselves giggling. Eric smoothed a thumb over Dele’s cheekbone, following it with a soft smudge of a kiss. “You know, you’re stunning in this moonlight,” murmured Eric. 

“I’m stunning in any light,” retorted Dele before he could think better of it, and was immediately glad that it was too dark to tell how hard he was blushing. Eric chuckled and moved back in to kiss him again, deeper this time. They held each other tight, revelling in each other, making out for what could have been seconds or hours. Dele found his hands running up Eric’s neck, grazing his fingers over the short hairs at the base of his skull, before moving down his back, spidering his fingers over the strip of soft skin under the hem of his jumper. Eric moved his hands over Dele’s ribs and kissed down the column of his neck, and Dele lost himself in the sensation. 

Suddenly, the door behind them clanged open and they were met with cheers and wolf whistles. Dele and Eric jumped back from each other, met with a handful of familiar faces from the party, bottles of wine clutched in their hands. “Jesus, Jan,” yelped Eric. “Could’ve given us a little warning.” 

“Where’s the fun in that?” said Jan. 

“Well, at least you brought refreshments.” 

Glasses of wine were poured, and Eric’s free hand snaked around Dele’s waist. The night was beautiful and it had just begun. 

* 

The sky was beginning to brighten when the party finally wrapped up. Dele and Eric were so deep in conversation they barely noticed the last of the guests stumbling out into the dawn, and Kate and Harry were curled up together on the couch, dead to the world and snoring slightly. 

Eric looked over at them and laughed gently. “They have the right idea.” 

Dele stretched and groaned. “Ugh. I have to work this afternoon. I really should get going.” 

“Should you?” asked Eric, and kissed him again. 

“Yeah. I don’t want to, but I really should,” Dele replied when they broke apart. 

“Let me walk you home, at least.” 

They walked the mile back to Dele’s flat, Eric’s coat still wrapped around his shoulders, as the sun rose and the city awakened. They kissed for minutes on Dele’s doorstep until a jaw-cracking yawn forced them to separate. 

“Here, have your coat back,” Dele said, but Eric put out a hand. 

“No, no. I’ll get it the next time I see you.” 

“Yeah,” said Dele, his eyes glowing. “Next time.” 

* 

Dele’s phone buzzed as he fell into bed. He checked the text and beamed to himself as he drifted to sleep. 

“I’ll see you after your shift. Sleep tight, beautiful boy.” 


End file.
